Book Bashing

I’ve been in a rut lately when it comes to reading material. I do GoodReads’ book challenge (at the rate I’m going, 40 books this year will be a breeze) to help keep up with what I’ve been reading, get motivation to finish books that I’ve started, and find my next book to read through an endless chain of recommendations. Though I’ve stumbled upon a some great books in the past years this way (The Night Circus, Unwind Dystology, and Perks of Being a Wallflower to name a few), there have also been books I loath entirely. Only if a book is truly awful do I give up finishing it entirely (although I still count it as read so I get the credit towards my yearly reading challenge. Honestly at times even getting through the first 100 pages is challenge enough). The books I’ve given up entirely in the past two years are…

The Magiciansby Lev Grossman

This book I actually ripped up and plastered the pages over my writing journal as a reminder how not to write. Usually my bibliophilic tendencies would internally combust at the thought of harming a book but I thoroughly enjoyed murdering this one. I didn’t even make it past page 150. As a die-hard Harry Potter fan, I gave in to the hype that The Magicians was a grown-up college version of my beloved Harry and friends. Whoever supports this heinous comparison should be doomed to book purgatory (I’m looking at you, LitReactor). I felt no personal connection to any character because they were all so forgettable and unrealistic. Quentin was nothing but a Debbie downer, in spite of the fact that he learned his alleged brilliance could be used for magic. Who WOULDN’T be stoked to find that out? Quentin, obviously. Probably because he had no real brilliance to be accounted for.

The final straw for me was the appearance of the antagonist (if that’s what you can call it). In class one day, something made Quentin angry (I think his professor called him out on not doing an assignment or something just as trivial) so he decided to get back at the professor by *gasp* jiggling the podium just a smidge with his mind. The horror! The next moment, some grey-suited thing appeared and made the whole room freeze for hours. Well that was… Odd. Not exactly sinister, just confusing. Quentin somehow assumed it was his fault that the well-dressed eccentric stranger did such a horrible thing (but we all know what happens when you assume…). I literally had to reread that entire exchange to catch what exactly Quentin did, and assumed the podium jiggling was the culprit. Ok….. Then the school had an assembly to calm the students’ worries regarding such a horrific event.

WHAT…….? Quentin made a piece of furniture shake and therefore brought the wrath of the evil Barney Stinson upon the school. I couldn’t go on. I could, however, go on about countless other times where the plot seemed to halt (like when Quentin waited outside a building he couldn’t get into for FIVE HOURS before he thought to do anything about it), but I digress. Plot ridicules aside, I sent most of my time reading this book distracted by Grossman’s grammar and writing technique because it was just wrong. Horrible writing, horrible plot. It is an insult to JK Rowling for this book to be compared to Harry Potter in any way. I just wish I had a basilisk fang to go all Tom Riddle’s Diary on this piece of crap.

The Scorch Trials by James Dashner

I read The Maze Runner, the first book in this series, and though I wasn’t completely in love with it, I was reasonably entertained by the suspense of the maze and the creepy inhabitants they called grievers. I could see potential in the idea and was interested enough to want answers.

I should have just stopped there.

My hopes were high when starting The Scorch Trials, which was the downfall of the book. Had I gone in with low standards, I may have actually finished this one. Instead, I was met with such a mountain of confusing and unexplained plot twists with no hope in sight for any answers at all. I lost track of what I was supposed to be anticipating that I just grew bored of the boys’ fruitless wanderings. I left them stranded in the desert and have no intentions of returning to see them through to safety. Once again, horrible writing to match the horrible plot.

These are just the books I hated so much I couldn’t finish. There are many more books I finished but wished I hadn’t wasted my time doing so…

The Moon Dwellersby David Estes — If this one hadn’t been so short, I wouldn’t have finished it. I was in the mood for a thrilling dystopian but this one definitely fell flat in every way possible. That’s the last time I expect something good to come from reading an obscure young adults novel.

Life After Lifeby Kate Atkinson — How this book became so popular so quickly, I will never know. I looked forward to each time Ursula died in hopes that her next life would be a bit more interesting. It never was. You would expect the 500+ page novel to address why she kept coming back to life, especially since she mentioned a couple times how familiar things felt. I guess that was too complicated for the author to try to conceptualize and add to the plot. Pity.

The Time Traveler’s Wifeby Audrey Niffenegger — I watched the movie first then decided to give the book a go. Now I can’t even stand the movie. It takes real talent to make spontaneous time travel so boring. Also, I’m convinced this book may be the true inspiration for Fifty Shades of Gray. TMI, people. Put more effort into explaining how he knew he was going to die rather than give us the intricacies of her miscarriages. Rather than heart-wrenching, it was disturbing and disgusting.

Tiger Lilyby Jodie Lynn Anderson — Peter Pan is one of my all time favorite stories so I gobble up any spin-off I can to revisit Neverland. This book made Neverland seem so ordinary and lackluster, I felt the need to apologize to JM Barrie on its behalf for destroying the magic. Better keep Neverland and its’ inhabitants in the hands of the master. I have learned my lesson.

Blegh. Next time you want a good book to read, stay as far away from these as possible. Now excuse me as I try to find my next read that will restore my faith in modern literature. Any suggestions are greatly appreciated.